“How is your day going, Sir?”
“Rough,” I mumbled as I handed my membership card to the receptionist to scan. I hate small talk, especially after the day I just had.
“Ruff to you too, Sir.”
“No, not ‘ruff’ like…” I didn’t have it in me to pass on my frustrations to someone else, especially someone who was only doing his job. Not when he looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes that fixated on my tie. Or maybe it was my pecs that seemed to engulf the tie on either side. “Never mind.”
“Well, enjoy your workout, Sir.”
I just grunted in response.
I walked into the locker room where the selfie-bros were hard at work in front of the mirrors. I squeezed by with the politeness of an agitated bull. Half of them looked annoyed. Half of them just looked. All of them wanted the same thing: me. It’s hard not to be noticed when you stand 6’4” and weigh between 240 and 260 lbs, depending on the season. It was the start of a shread-season, and cutting calories was not helping my mood.
“Fuck, bro. How’d you get so huge?”
I turned to see who was talking to me. Great; one of the mirror-bros.
“Genetics and hard work.”
“What’s your secret? You juice? How do I get to be that big?”
All I wanted was to change, slam some iron, and aggressively relax. Instead, more fucking small talk. Fucking fantastic. I walked over, puffed out my chest, and looked down at this ‘peasant’ who addressed me like he knew me.
“You want to know how I got this big? I spend more time out there than I do in here in front of a mirror. You done wasting my time, boy?”
“Yes, Sir” whimpered the prima donna before scampering off like a chihuahua who wasn’t expecting a big dog to bark back at his yipping.
Being a creature of habit, I walked to the back where I always took the same locker. It was usually empty and gave me the space I needed to undress. But not today. Of course not today. Nothing is ever that simple when you’re having a bad day. A middle aged man sat on the bench, taking up space that was meant for me, scrolling through Twitter and sending pointless validation-likes to posers he would never know.
“You’re in my way.” I tossed my gym bag next to him. He looked up, startled, and immediately moved to the edge away from me. I could feel his eyes on me as I undressed, first the tie, then the shirt, both of which I tossed to the floor. He got down, picked them up, folded, and neatly set them on the bench. Faggots everywhere.
I pulled down my pants, then my underwear, and stepped out of them, leaving them in a pile which was quickly folded and placed with my shirt. I stood there, naked except for my socks. He reached out to touch my heavy cock, but I slapped his hand away.
“Socks,” I ordered, placing my feet, one by one, on the bench for him to remove. He sniffed them as I tucked my cock into my jockstrap. He looked disappointed as I continued to dress.
“Give me your cock. I want it. Let me suck it! No one will see.”
I have no tolerance for demanding faggots. I reached into my jock, wiped from my taint up to my balls, collecting the sweat that had been soaking all day, and wiped my hand on his face.
“I don’t give a shit what faggots want.”
I grabbed my headphones, clicked the lock on my locker into place, and walked into my temple.
The weight room seemed unusually crowded today, but fortunately people seemed to give me my space. Having a resting “don’t fuck with me”-face comes in handy sometimes. I saw a few familiar people; some were regulars who I exchanged head nods to, some were guys I had fucked, some were guys I was planning on fucking but hadn’t gotten around to yet.
It was edging on a mental level. Still didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun. In the mirrored walls, I could track all eyes on me.
Everytime I lifted shirt to wipe my face, there would be a faggot staring at my abs.
Everytime I grunted, I knew there were faggots imagining hearing that moan in their ears as I pumped my loads into them.
Every bead of salty sweat, faggots were wishing they could lick from me.
I know they could smell me. And I didn’t care.
Even with my headphones on, I could still hear them.
“Guys that big are always compensating.”
“Probably has a tiny dick.”
I casually readjusted my cock, visibly gripping the outline through my shorts, pretending I hadn’t just heard them. They just stared with open mouths, now aware how wrong they were. The attention could be fun sometimes, but I was there for a purpose: to lift.
Not even an hour had gone by when the lights dimmed and brightened, dimmed and brightened, signaling that the gym was about to close. I checked the clock on the wall. It was earlier than usual but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with cutting my workout short; not when I still had work to do. They would have to drag me out of there by force.
I was in there alone when the receptionist from earlier came in.
“Are you the last one here, Sir?” His voice was hopefully inquisitive, and not confrontational. I was confused.
“Ya.”
He just smiled at me and softly said, “Good.”
Elysium Lifestyle 